


A Brief Encounter

by Jaspen



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 13:35:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7620073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaspen/pseuds/Jaspen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hahaha, way to go sis, you killed him!"</p>
<p>"C-Cynthia, don't joke like that!"</p>
<p>There was laughter, somewhere, and her soft voice like the gentle bend of light off the petals of a summer tulip...</p>
<p>Her eyes were the most startling shades of blue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Brief Encounter

"Look out!" The taste of blood in his mouth felt almost nostalgic. In retrospect, that probably wasn't a good thing, but he was too busy watching the stars circle his head like an outdated cliche while feeling forced it's way back through each individual nerve and tendon spread throughout his limbs.

"Hahaha, way to go sis, you killed him!"

"C-Cynthia, don't joke like that!" There was a hand on his head, soft, and warm, and he wondered what kind of face went with it. A lovely one to be sure, if her voice was anything to go by.

Oh, but she was speaking to him, wasn't she? There was laughter, somewhere, and her soft voice like the gentle bend of light off the petals of a summer tulip... the light was blinding, but he tried to at least keep focus. There was white, and baby's breath. A golden band kept midnight tresses from falling into her face; her lips deep as fresh rosebuds, her nose upturned at the end into a small button shape. Her eyes were the most startling shades of blue.

_Sweet mistress-- what your name is else, I know not,_   
_Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine,--_

She waved her hand before his face, concern scrunched between her brows and worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. All in an instant his breath caught in his throat, threatening sweet release from this mortal coil to join the goddess before him in the realms of the beyond.

_Less in your knowledge and your grace you show not_   
_Than our earth's wonder, more than earth divine._   
_Teach me, dear creature, how to think, and speak_   
_Lay open to my earthy gross conceit,_   
_Smothered in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,_   
_The folded meaning of your words' deceit._

"Hey, is he alright?"

"I, I don't know, he hasn't really said anything..."

_Against my soul's pure truth why labour you_   
_To make it wander in an unknown field?_   
_Are you a god? Would you create me new?_   
_Transform me, then, and to your power I'll yield._

"Maybe a concussion?? Hey, what's he mumbling?"

He snapped back into his body with all the speed of an an agile fox, feeling returning with a vengeance, pulling along his frame in time to his telltale heart, hammering away to keep up. He shoved himself back, up, off the ground, hands going to smooth out his clothes in unconscious self-consciousness. The girl with the sapphire eyes reached for him, before seeming to think better of it, and clutching the bottom of her private school uniform dress.

"I apologize for my lack of propriety," her head bowed low, and he instantly felt his heart thrum down in the pits of his stomach. "It was not my intention to harm you, or anyone else, with my lack of athletic skill,"

"Oh for-- I asked her to practice with me," Said the other girl, shorter and wearing a sports jersey with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of short, mesh shorts. Her hair, matching in color directly with the goddess before him, was pulled back into high twin tails. She had a soccer ball held casually under her arm. "She didn't mean to hit you in the face, okay?"

"Cynthia, please!" The elder of the two interjected. She looked downright mortified with the entire situation. "This not just some wayward sports injury, this poor man could have been gravely hurt!" She turned to him with a new purpose, and he jumped at the intensity in her eyes. "You're not hurt, are you?"

He shook his head furiously, and nearly backed out, but she didn't seem to notice, and that was all that mattered to him at the moment. She relaxed almost instantly, and the smile that graced her visage slammed his heart back into it's cage, where it scrambled about in an anxious flutter. "I'm glad."

"Oh sh-- Hey, it's almost 4:30!!"

Cynthia's words spurred the woman into frantic movement as she took a small notebook and pen out from the front pocket of her satchel, and quickly scribbled something down on it before handing it to him. "I have to go now, but please let me make this up to you some other time-- perhaps Monday, over coffee?" She sent him to nirvana with a pure-hearted smile, and the next minute, she was gone-- her distant footfalls and the note in his limp grasp the only indication that she even existed in this realm of existence for even the briefest of moments alongside him.

His hands shook as he looked down at the note-- temptress, even her _handwriting_ was adorable!!-- at the neat lines of her cursive script that paved the way to a local cafe he only knew about because he passed by it on his way to school when he walked with Owain. She had... She had asked him out on a date, hadn't she? Well no, not really, she was merely trying to apologise for beaning him in the face with her sister's soccer ball-- but that didn't stop the flutter in his chest, the butterflies making themselves at home in the very pits of his stomach, so deep he'd need a cleaver and some twine to get them out...

Gods, was that morbid. He must really be out of it if his descriptory was dipping into the visceral.

She didn't know what he sounded like, didn't know how his throat formed words perfect for the high theatre, but wrong for everyday speech. How embarrassing. He hadn't even told her his name.

Not that she had told him his, but that was an oversight he was willing to overlook.

"Well, my dear Luciana," he murmured, clutching the paper gently, holding the delicate script to his inwardly abused chest. His face warmed at the very thought of what had just transpired-- of the embarrassment he'd no doubt been, of how her perfection sent his heart a flutter. He folded it gently, and slipped it into the front pocket of his wallet, so that he could not possibly misplace it. "Monday it is, then."

**Author's Note:**

> The poetry Inigo rambles in his head is a monologue from A Comedy of Errors, Act 3 Scene 2.


End file.
